Behold I Stand at the Door 5-20-10

Deep Gap, North Carolina

Several weeks ago a friend asked me if I had any images of doors. Caroline was helping a missionary acquaintance put together some sort of Sunday School program. She indicated she was having a hard time finding any photos of doors on the Internet. I promised to see if I could find an image or two of doors in my databases.

After mining some 65,000 digital files, copying and pasting them for several hours, I found I had assembled exactly 199 images of doors from twenty-two countries. I perused these images and the most surreal thing about them is that I actually made them myself. These doors are to be found on the front of everything from squatter’s shacks in Haiti, to ancient pyramids, to the inconceivably opulent oil palaces of Dubai. Some are more than two thousand years old; others still have almost-damp paint on them. The smallest of these are whimsical painted wood ones barely chest high. Others are vast imposing bronze panels twenty feet high, weighing tons. Every one has added paragraphs, even whole chapters to my life experience. I wonder how it is that I have been granted entry through all of these portals into other worlds, so very different than my own.

Alas, my friend never did drive over to my house to collect these images I had assembled for her to pass on to her missionary friend, even passing up a free meal. Something about cleaning houses, doing church stuff, and busyness came across cyberspace. Yet, the exercise of revisiting all these portals in my past proved most helpful, provoking a sense of gratitude for the journeys granted me. It made me wonder about what really is important in life. Do we make time to spend with those we hold dear, to dine with them and share memories?

Jesus expressed His indignation at those who could not be bothered to show up for a gala dinner, individuals who made excuses of taking care of animals, inspecting properties, ad infinitum. He routinely used parables to make strong statements about Kingdom living and what really matters in the human experience. Taking time to share meals was a big deal to Jesus, as it is to me.

One of my great joys is hearing the doorbell ring just before the announced time of a dinner party. For those few seconds in transit to answer, I wonder who is about to gift me with their presence in my life. Opening the door is not unlike unwrapping a finely decorated Christmas gift. There is that invariable moment of recognition and subsequent elation that comes after opening my own door, knowing these dear friends are to be at table with me for the luxurious span of several hours, uninterrupted by the usual urgent distractions part and parcel of American life. It has long been my practice to keep the dining table set with my best silver and crystal in anticipation of surprise visitors, even on days when I have no specific meal planned. Every guest, every day of life merits celebration with our best.

The first time I came here to the end of the road, some ten years ago, I was literally fleeing a great darkness in my life, gaining safety under a cloak of secrecy. Only two people even knew where I was fleeing. Then, in the darkness of night I showed up here to find the now-deceased director of the retreat waiting on me with a fine hot supper of chicken, mashed potatoes, and vegetables cooked in ways only known to those living in the recesses of Appalachia. Even in extremitis, a fine hot meal has a way of putting the brakes on frenzied souls.

Ten years later I have returned here and details of my whereabouts are common knowledge to those who have any reason to care about them. I came through yet another one of those doors in my life to find the same pure hospitality that has been offered to me here during the past ten years. Fine hot meals have offered recent pleasure to a now calmer soul. There is no hiding here anymore. I only wish I could bring everyone here with me. A decade ago I was living a tortured frantic life. I find myself presently in a large place of soul I wish all could experience. The Keepers of Eden left the light on for me.

Certainly, meals we share on journeys through beckoning doors of the world are fertile soil for many of our most cherished memories. New Testament writings are replete with stories of shared hospitality at table. Sharing of meals is one of the more intimate activities we indulge in. The most important sacrament in orthodox, catholic, or protestant liturgical churches is that of Holy Eucharist, a sacred meal to remind us of One who made the ultimate sacrifice, allowing us admittance to the door of Heaven. We are challenged to share this meal as often as we think about it.

For those with their names entered into the Lamb’s Book of Life, an invitation awaits them to the Marriage Supper of the Lamb. Even the extravagance portals of the oil palaces of Dubai will pale in comparison to the gates of the New Jerusalem. For certain, I have seen many of the grandest portals on earth but passing through them will be nothing compared to walking on streets of transparent gold through gates of pearl to the greatest festival meal of all time.

One of the most beloved promises in all Christian scripture is that in which the Father declares, “Behold, I stand at the door and knock; if any one hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him, and will dine with him, and he with me.” We have reason to keep the tables of our hearts set with the best we have. We have the most desirable of all guests in the universe waiting just outside the most important door in the world, our own. Have you heard Him ring your bell?